The Blood in Her Soul
by SocialisesWithBooks
Summary: AU: One windy night, while Jocelyn is away in England with Luke, Clary collides with an Eidolon demon outside the Pandemonium and suddenly a drop of his blood mixes itself into her system. Strange things, with no simple explanation, start to happen. After all, Jace, Izzy and Alec have been looking for this shapeshifting demon around New York...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I actually published this story quite a while ago, but didn't continue it. I want to give it a second chance and try FanFiction again, plus I want to develop my writing skills. I know I'm not the best writer, and I can work on a bunch of areas, and I'm trying to improve. Basically, if you've got any constructive criticism please PM me because I'd really appreciate it!**

 **Oh, also, this won't happen much but this chapter is Rated M for language!**

CHAPTER 1:

Clary tightens her grip on her mother's portfolio as a gust of cold wind blows in her face, blasting her hair out of her eyes. Tiny droplets are falling from the sky, making their way down Clary's face. The sun's setting on the horizon, painting the sky a pinky-orange colour, and dark clouds are approaching the city. She dawdles down the street as another gust of wind thrashes the trees about. She likes the way the thunder rolls on, and the way the lighting imprints its pattern in her vision. It's good to be out, even in this weather.

The crowds grow, and the sidewalk thickens with people as the night clubs and bars opened, and people began taking notice of Clary walking in the rain. Her bright red hair made her easy to spot and her modest ('unusual') taste in clothing earned her a few odd looks from passers-by, rolling their eyes at the idea of even wearing something that covered their collarbone. She was the only one with-out an umbrella, yet she didn't seem to mind. Within minutes of opening, all the most popular clubs had developed lines so long you would have thought they were waiting to meet Kim Kardashian.

She could almost picture her mum in England, sitting in front of a large blank canvas, deciding whether to paint the city life from the view of her window, or to wait for a sunset. Jocelyn had told Luke what she expected of Clary; no visitors other than Simon, and if something the slightest bit odd occurred, he wanted Clary to ring straight away. Yeah right, like that's gonna happen.

She absentmindedly checked her watch, 8:29. Groaning in realisation, Clary sighs and rolls her eyes, quickening her pace. Jocelyn wants her home by 8:30, and she's expecting a call from Clary. A call before bed, a call when she wakes up, a call when she's feeling sick. Like _she_ can control her every move? So she lets of her mind wonder, and dreams about what it would be like to have no responsibilities; no expectations. To have no one judging her. Instead she was stuck in a mass of responsibility called 'life'. Looking around town, she noticed just how trapped she was. New York wasn't a place she could be free. Stories and stories of boring grey buildings encased every street in town. The only freedom here came with a cost, and quite a literal cost. You can't just walk into a club without a ticket.

She glances up as she passes the only 'all ages' club, Pandemonium. Stopping in her tracks, she looks behind her. The sign almost blinds her, the neon name was glowing white-hot. Colourful flashing lights escaped the entrance and danced over the footpath. It was almost as if they could hypnotise you, capturing you and luring you into a trance. They called for her to breathe the air inside, even take a sip of the alcohol. This time she could tell the pull of the club was much stronger. It was a magical kind of a pull. Surely she could get in? After all, what trouble could Clary cause?

Snapping herself out of a daydream, she continues on the path home, but later turns around, just for one last look. She won't go in, she's just admiring.

Before she can turn back around she's shocked by a shove. _Oh, fuck._ Something's struck her. She can feel the wind, her hands reaching out, her hair clouding her vision. She can see nothing… Something? Everything. It was not her yelp she heard, but rather the yelp of the boy. She didn't have time to care about him, she was in the air. It didn't matter how high she was, it was going to be a painful landing. What on earth hit her to send her sprawling five feet away from the collision? Where would she land? On the road? On the pavement? She was in a position with absolutely no control. Clary flung her hand's out in instinct, and Jocelyn's artwork scattered across the pavement and the street as she let it go.

A sharp pain greeted Clary as she landed and she rolled over on her stomach, groaning in pain. Clary was still dazed from the blow, and her vision blurred and stunned, half images drifting, objects doubling. Once she had recovered she looked around for an explanation. _Ah, shit. Mum's not going to be happy about this…_ Her eyes settle on all of the prints, her mother's art, strewn across the street, wet, muddy and torn, with dirty tire tracks claiming the art. The guilt surfaced, and she felt herself looking away. All those paintings had been sold, and that was the only evidence, Jocelyn said, that they ever existed. All those years of hard work, wiped away with one single action. Now what would her mum use to apply for her job at the National Gallery?

She brushed the thought from her mind. After all, there was nothing she could do about it now, right? Looking up from the concrete she noticed a peculiar boy. He lay crouched, half on the street, half on the side-walk. He was crouched with his knees and arms to his chest, groaning in pain. Maybe a broken rib or two. But what a weird colour to die your hair. The blue strands almost seemed alive with electricity. But _damn,_ those green eyes, Clary gulped. At his feet lay an upturned black and white skateboard.

She placed her hand on her head in confusion, but was instead welcomed by the warm and wet sensation of blood. ' _What have I done?'_ Clary thought. She felt drops rolling down her face one by one, the wind slowly turning them cold. She clinched as one landed on her eyelid, and she had the sense to wipe it off, but not without smudging it. Both her head and her hand were bleeding. A deep cut had formed on her right hand, but she had no clue about her head injury. Clary felt like face-palming. This was something her mum would probably kill her about. Then there was the possibility of concussion. What had she gotten herself into?

The other figure stood up, only to fall back down a second later. This was her fault, Clary realised. If only she had been paying attention and not daydreaming for the thousandth time. She stood up abruptly and raced to his side in concern, checking for any injuries.

"Sorry, are you alright?" She held out her hand for him, and he took it in his without acknowledging her, still shielding his face with his other hand. "Ouch!" The boy's head snapped up at her exclamation, revealing wide-alert eyes, as Clary drew back her hand quickly, making him fall backwards once again. His snake-like eyes, locked onto hers. Her hand still felt warm and tingly, sizzling like she had just been shocked. Curious, she examined her hand. On it was a drop of a black fluid, like blood, slowly mixing in with her own. She subtly snuck a glance at the boy's hand and noticed that his were also grazed and bloody. Though his blood was not red; it was a greenish-black colour. Not the colour of human blood, she observed.

That was the first thing she noticed. _It was greenish-black, not red. Not red_. Her heart rate was gradually rising as she came to realise what this meant. _Not human. It wasn't human._ It took no more than a second for Clary to react. For the first time, she saw him for who he truly was. She saw through his false layers of skin. He moved like a holographic protection, sliding in and out of focus, with the same piercing green eyes and electrical hair, but his skin was no longer human.

As soon as they made eye contact, Clary looked away, attempting to hide her secret. What would he do to her if he realised she knew? Clary thought she was going crazy, thought she had lost it. The streets were still busy, so she wasn't alone, yet no-one had seen what happened. No one had noticed the odd one out. What could that mean?

Turning away, Clary looked to her mother's portfolio. She seemed to be searching the scattered art for clues, or something to tell her what was lights of the street were dimming, flickering as they did so, and she felt a headache coming. Maybe she was just exhausted and the light was distorting her view? As she glanced behind her, she hoped to see a perfectly normal boy with blue hair and green eyes.

She didn't scream or cry. She just pushed through the small crowd that formed, and skip-hopped to the other side of the road, before breaking out into a full sprint back to the apartment.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it and please R &R**


	2. Chapter 2

Long time, no see! Here I present myself sheepishly to you, pretending I haven't abandoned this fanfiction that I re-uploaded over a year ago in the hopes of restarting some fanfiction. Old habits die hard, I guess. I originally wrote this like three and a half years ago and my writing has gotten so much better that I'm cringing at this chapter, but I hope you don't mind it too much! Anywhoozle, I hope you enjoy.

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Clary burst into the apartment, slammed the door behind her and collapsed against it, relieved to feel the smooth wood against her back. Her eyes had betrayed her, the door was still there. None of this was supposed to happen and she knew it. Aliens in New York? Of course, no-one would believe her.

But she remembered the screams of the boy clear as day. _Come back! I'm sorry._ The growl came first, then the high-pitched scream. Only Clary could hear, only Clary could see, and she covered her ears as she ran away from the hideous beast.

 _I'm sorry!_ How could someone be sorry for who they were? Especially if they couldn't change that. Now she could only think of one more question: How many of these things are there? When will the attack come? Are They going to invade Earth?

Bile was rising in her throat, setting it on fire, her headache was still growing and her vision was blurred. All the way home she had felt sick. Who wouldn't? After something like that she was probably lucky to be alive.

Her stomach contracted and growled. She pushed herself from the floor and advanced across the room. She could hear talking, but couldn't decide which room it was coming from. Clary couldn't even tell left from right. The apartment looked like a fish-bowl. Some things were larger than others. Sometimes things just jumped out at her, making her scream. She made a bee-line for the kitchen bin, swaying here and there. She could smell the small meal she had cooked, waiting on the kitchen table for her. Usually, she would had loved to inhale it, but now all she wanted to do was throw up. Though the cold night air could no longer be felt from inside the apartment, Clary still felt cold.

Giving up in search of the bin, she hurried along to the balcony instead. The bustle of cars on the streets down below interrupted her thoughts with ease. Clary's cheeks puffed as she tried to contain it, but contain it she couldn't. Her stomach contracted again and she threw up on the window-sill, some just making it over the balcony and onto the fire escape.

Not bothering to move, she admired the night sky. Her apartment didn't provide the best view, but she could still see the city skyline peeking over the top of other apartment blocks. People were rushing in different directions, all just tiny specs. Just caring about their own lives and not really looking at the bigger picture, a picture that Clary admired artistically. To capture the innocence and the damage of one situation in one frame would be incredible, but tricky to do.

She was up for the challenge. _Just not right now,_ she thought as she threw up again on the window sill.

Clary awoke to the sound of someone knocking. Sometimes she wished she could sleep in until midday, but that promise she made to Simon tied her to an afternoon of Java Jones and terrible poetry— If it was even _worthy_ of that name. At least the coffee there was good.

As the knocking continued, Clary threw off the covers, annoyed that she couldn't sleep any longer. The cold air engulfed her immediately and she shivered, trotting bare foot across the unpolished timber floor to the front door with a spare blanket, that she had hastily wrapped around herself. It was so large it trailed behind her as she walked, collecting all the dust she hadn't swept up.

Clary had completely forgotten about yesterday's events, but her pounding headache soon reminded her. A new thought came with each pound. The screams of the teenage boy. His blood on her hands. The electrical zap. Although it did bother her, she didn't have the energy to be worried.

But what did it all mean? And what if the person waiting at the front door wasn't a man at all? What if it was that _thing…_ She shook the thought aside. She knew she could be paranoid sometimes.

Though Clary didn't know it, somewhere outside, within the walls of New York city, was a "boy" with green eyes and blue hair, waiting for the moment he could take revenge on the girl who had subtly stolen his blood. Lilith had created demons to be cruel and merciless, and this demon was no exception.

Clary shook all foreign ideas from her head once again, calming her mind, then made a mental note to take some pain killers later. After all, she was just stressed and anxious about her hallucination last night. That's what it was, a hallucination, nothing more. At least, that was what Clary thought.

Simon could hear heavy, drawn-out footsteps on the other side of the apartment door and multiple yawns. After yawning as well, he heard the door unlock slowly. Clary was taking her time, making sure not to go to fast for her body. After removing several bolts and unlocking the final locks, Clary opened the door slowly.

Simon could easily tell she had been up all night. She looked as if she had only had a few hours of sleep, and she seemed to cling to the door in a frail sort of manner, as if asking it for protection. If Simon didn't know her better he would say she looked hungover, but this was definitely not the case. Her expression was hidden, a kind of drawn-back look. Her eyes were focused on the floor, hands playing with the stray cotton thread of her PJs. Something was definitely bothering her.

"Look, Clary," Simon pocketed his hands slowly. "If you don't want to come to Java Jones, you don't have to. And I don't blame you," Simon looked to Clary, but she her eyes were still trained on the floor. This was starting to annoy him. It was like trying to talk to a remote control; everything relied on it, but you couldn't speak to it.

"At least, with Eric's poetry," he continued, mumbling and lightly kicking the floor. "And you might want to catch some sleep too, you look like one of the zombies from House of the Dead."

"Zombies can't talk Simon," Clary drew out her response, rubbing one eye as she did so. "They mumble and groan." She yawned at this, eyes still looking down. No connection could be felt between them. It was as if Simon was talking to a reflective window. "But I can still come if you-" Clary interrupted herself with another yawn, "give me-"

"Clary, just- Will you please look at me?" He had had enough of this "The floor is oh, so interesting _"_ it was time to do something his way.

"Wow, take it slow, I'm just tired. I'm not angry at you or anything, you know that right?" She tilted her head up to look him in the eye, but he avoided looking at her.

Guilt overcame him. Simon was also slightly offended she had thought he thought Clary was mad. "Of course I kn-" Turning his head to look down at her, he did not see her usual bright green eyes. Instead, he looked back into endless pit black irises, with bright surrounding whites. He tilted his head slowly and leaned in closer to examine her eyes. They were filled with a slight disgust, like some who had found a dead animal on the side of a road. They weren't the eyes of Clary. They would never be. "Clary! I never knew you had contacts."To tell the truth, Simon didn't like the look of it at all, they couldn't be Clary's eyes.

"I don't." She looked back into his eyes, laughing slightly at what she thought was a joke and readjusting the blanket around her body.

"Then, what on earth did you do to your eyes?" He emphasised this with hand gestures and widened eyes. Clary felt her stomach churn at this. The headaches, the screams, the memory of blood. They all came rushing back. And by the way Simon looked at Clary, waiting for her response, she could tell that every bone in his body was being serious.

The whole room seemed to dim at his words. Clary shut down. Leaving the apartment door wide open for Simon, she stumbled across the timber flooring, and made her way towards the bathroom, which was to the left. She could see perfectly fine. In fact, everything was quite sharp. She could smell the hotdogs from the stall down on the street, wafting up into the apartment, she could hear the shuffling of feet on roads metres below. Normally the air felt clear, but today, she noticed, she felt like she was constantly walking through tough spiderwebs.

She flung the bathroom door open, and it slammed against the wall. Looking straight into the bathroom cabinet, she saw her reflection staring back at her.

Simon walked in right after Clary, staring at her in the mirror, but Clary was only looking at herself. A pair of black eyes starred back at her. They showed no love or mercy, for they belonged to a demon.

A salty tear escaped her closed eye. She turned around and pushed Simon with a force she didn't know she had. He stumbled onto the floor, then scrambled back to his feet.

"Clary-" He whispered her name like a question.

"Get out," Her voice matched his tone. And when no reply came, she made herself clear. "Get out!" She practically screamed it in his face. Clary knew she meant Simon no harm, but he thought otherwise.

Clary collapsed on the floor and looked to the open door. Simon had fled, leaving no traces of his whereabouts. But she didn't care.

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And that's all for today folks! As always, I'd really appreciate it if you left a review, because it makes my day! :)


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